Appearances Can Be Deceiving
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: A sequel to The Mean Reds Affair. Things are getting more and more confusing for Illya around HQ and why is everyone having such a problem with that one report he filed?


Illya Kuryakin walked slowly down the corridor. Why he'd been summoned to Dr. Freling's office was a mystery. Yet much of the last few days had been something of a puzzlement to him. He still wasn't sure what had caused his initial concern for Napoleon. He wasn't sure what had triggered his migraine and he wasn't sure why people were treating him the way they were. Everyone seemed to be tip-toeing around him as if worrying about making him mad or anxious.

However, more than any of that, Illya hadn't been alone in HQ. For the last few days someone always seemed to be with him, either by accident or design. Either it was Napoleon, another agent, or some other member of the staff. Having grown up in a very small apartment with an even smaller bed, which was crowded with his brothers and, at times, a sister or two, Illya cherished his alone time.

Certainly the cramped living and working quarters of the Russian Navy hadn't afforded him that, but UNCLE had. When he came to New York, he had his own apartment, with a bathroom or bed he didn't have to share unless the mood struck him until now. Except for the toilet, there was always someone with him. It seemed… odd.

Worse than that was the feeling he had at the base of his neck that he was being watched. It was something he'd tolerated in Paris and London, for he frankly didn't have the option. Here in America, he'd been free from watchful eyes.

He neared the door and it slid open upon his approach. For some reason, his gut clenched and he hesitated but for a moment. After all, Section Two agents weren't supposed to be afraid of anything.

The receptionist looked up and smiled. "Take a seat, Agent, and the doctor will be right with you." She smiled at him and then got up. "I will be right back. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you." He watched her walk away and smiled, happy to have a moment to himself to gather his thought.

Illya sat quietly, replaying the last couple of days. This morning he had been in the Canteen, having a cup of coffee that he neither wanted nor requested. Napoleon had insisted and although Napoleon was his partner and friend, he was also Illya's boss and occasionally made sure Illya knew that.

A young woman came up to him. She was unknown to him, but she wore the typical white blouse and trim skirt of an UNCLE secretary.

"How are you feeling?"

The question surprised Illya. Cautiously, he answered. "I am fine."

"I just want you to know I believe you. Even if no one else does, I do." She glanced nervously around and scampered away at Napoleon's approach. He smiled after the retreating figure.

"Friend of yours?" Napoleon sat and pushed a paper cup towards him.

"No. Never saw her before." He hesitated, something he rarely did with Napoleon. "She said she believed me even if no one else did."

"Believed you how?"

"No idea."

Illya blinked as someone touched his shoulder. Dr. Freling was kneeling before him. "Are you all right, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Yes… what… what happened?" Illya became aware that some time had passed.

"According to my receptionist, upon her return she found you stiff and twitching. She's gone to get some medical assistance."

Illya sat up and frowned. "I do not… am I ill?"

"I'm not sure. You seem fine now. Why don't you take a seat in my office and I will cancel the medical help?"

Illya nodded and got up from the couch to walk into the interior office. Unlike so much of UNCLE HQ's dull gray walls, these walls were painted a soft blue. The furniture was wood, the tones warm and comforting. The couch was comfortable and inviting, but Illya resisted sinking into its depths. He sat in a straight back chair and stared straight ahead.

A moment later, the doctor entered and handed Illya cup of water. Then he took a seat behind the desk and waited patiently for Illya to finish drinking.

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Kuryakin and tell you everything is fine because then you would think me a fool and a liar."

"Thank you." Illya wasn't sure why he appreciated the doctor's frankness.

"Let's go back to that morning. What were you doing?"

Illya looked over at the couch. "Should I lie down?"

"Only if you want to take a nap."

Illya managed a small laugh. "I was typing a report."

"What was it about?"

"Our last affair and the details are classified at the moment." Illya shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "I gradually became aware of a sense of something being wrong. Napoleon was late and he always checked in, if not with me, then at least reception. It's standard procedure."

"But he hadn't."

"No, and the feeling amplified."

"As did your headache."

"Yes."

"Have you suffered any recent head trauma?"

"You are joking. I'm Section Two. A good week is when I only get knocked out once, but, no, no recent head trauma."

"Could it be from an earlier injury?"

"I was certified field ready during my last exam."

"So, no head trauma. What do you think might have caused this?"

"I am at a lost. Napoleon told me that it was a case of the Mean Reds. He explained it as a feeling of losing control."

"And you don't believe this."

"I do not. I have never had a fear of losing control. Why would it suddenly start now?"

"Without betraying any details, can you think of anything that might have occurred during your last assignment that could have triggered this?"

"Neither of us was captured or experienced any of THRUSH usual tactics."

"How about unusual tactics?"

"No, he dallied a bit with an innocent, much to the displeasure of her husband, but that is hardly unusual or unlikely."

"You disapprove of his behavior?"

"He is simply being Napoleon. He could no more stop flirting with a woman than he could sprout wings and fly." Illya stood up and began to pace. "It is his nature, even though it occasionally puts us at risk."

The doctor pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. "You might want to take a look at this."

Illya lifted the sheet and stared at the three words typed over and over again – _Napoleon is dead_- "What is this? Some sort of sick joke?"

"That was a sheet of paper taken from your typewriter."

"I didn't put it there." There was a tightness in the back of his head, as if a band was being twisted. "Napoleon is alive."

"Is he?" The doctor leaned closer. "Is Mr. Solo alive, Mr. Kuryakin? How do you know this?"

"What nonsense this is!" Illya stuffed the sheet of paper into his pocket. "Of course he is! I had coffee with him this morning."

"Then where is he now? Is he in this room?"

"What are you…?" Without meaning to, Illya glanced around the room. "Of course he isn't. It's just you and me."

"Look again."

Illya sighed, rolled his eyes skyward and did as requested. That was when he saw a shadowed lump. It was approximately man size… worse, it was approximately Napoleon sized. With a gasp, he went to the body, for now he knew that was what it was.

He didn't need to turn the bloodied form over to check for any sign of life for he knew death had taken up residency within. He recognized the pattern of the coat, the cut of the shoulders and the blood -crusted dark hair.

He turned to the doctor. "What have you done?' The man merely laughed. "_What have you done?_" He fell upon the man and began to choke him.

"Illya, Illya! Come on, Partner, snap out of it!"

Illya woke with a gasp. He was in Medical and a concerned Napoleon was leaning over him. Illya went to reach for him, but his arms were restrained.

"Napoleon?" His eyes searched Napoleon's for the truth.

"Sorry about those, but they deemed it was necessary. You attacked one of the nurses."

"You're not dead."

"Not the last time I checked, but if I don't get those reports filed, I will be. I'm having a problem with some of the blanks… you know, when I was…"

"Getting into trouble with the innocent."

"How about you dictate and I write?"

The sheet of paper flashed before his eyes and Illya took a deep breath. "Perhaps later, Napoleon, I think I will sleep now." Illya closed his eyes and waited.

"No, Illya, don't… Waverly…" There was a grunt. "We've lost him again."

"Give him time." It was Dr. Freling's voice. "He doesn't have a choice. He'll be back."


End file.
